Catherine Greenfield-- A Different Kind of Tree-- In relation to A Continuous Harmony

"Walking among all these flowers, I cannot see enough. One is aware of the abundance of lovely things-forms, scents, colors-lavished on the earth beyond any human capacity to perceive or number or imitate." p.46, A Continuous Harmony.

There is a bush on campus that is absolutely dripping with bright, delicious flowers right now. The bees bumble about, completely at a loss as to which downy petal to court first. It doesn't seem like it could hold a single flower more-- it's as if it is so excited, so absolutely delighted with the world and itself that it can do nothing more to express it than push petal after petal out through it's woody skin.

I wish I could express myself like that.

I can't see enough of how beautiful it all is, either. I wish I had more eyes to see it, more fingers to touch it, more toes to wriggle in it, more mouths to breathe it, more noses to smell it, more tongues to sing the praises of this beautiful, beautiful earth! The sky is so blue, the blackness of the tree bark against it as stark as true love, and I want to burst out of my skin and be a part of all of it. I want to love it with my entire self, open up my chest and pull it all inside of me, open up the bedecked bushes and wrap myself in them until I have sprouted branches, budded with leaves, pushed petals through my lips and eyes and fingers, and bloomed with it all as literally and figuratively as that bush on campus. Why can't I?

That's one reason why I am a music major-- the closes thing I can think of to sprouting branches and rooting my feet in the soil, drinking in the soul of the place, is learning how to take it through my body and release it through my human mouth. I want to be able to express how beautiful everything is, because God didn't give me petals or leaves or branches. He did not give me patience with a brush or a steady hand with pastels. He didn't give me fluidity of movement or dancing limbs. He gave me a voice, though. And he gave me willpower, and love, and eyes that can see the painting and dancing and explosions of glory around me. I will make songleaves and songflowers. My voice will be the brush, the fountain pen, the light and delicate feet. The world is my medium. I do not have roots. I do not have branches. But somehow, someway, someday... I will be the bush.

I love everything.